Aah, it’s that auspicious day again – the day Goddess Saraswati blessed the eldest daughter of Master Dinanath Mangeshkar with a voice so sweet that it defies the shackles of vocabulary and language.

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It’s been a roller coaster week laced with a bit of laziness, and hoardes of new goodies that have kept me busy.

For those who sniggered let me just inform that I do have a pile-load of work, which I am desperately trying to reduce and streamline. There are only two options that can happen – either I succumb within its weight, or I sort it out to the extent that leaves me less breathless than now. As of now, I sit precariously beneath the first one!

There was another trip to Aligarh in between, including that horrifyingly bumpy ride via Hathras. But I am not getting into those details. Let’s delve deep into the good stuff.

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Mat – Well, the actual name is ‘Maant‘ (pronounced as one would ‘Daant’, to scold), with a ‘chandrabindu maatra’ over the ‘aa‘. But Anglicized, it has turned to Mat (pronounced Maat, with the ‘t’ of ‘Tamatar‘).  Mat is some 30 kilometeres off Mathura. To reach, there are two routes – one, is to go on the Hathras Road from Mathura. At Raya, a turn on the left will take you through a tedious ten-twelve kilometer drive inwards to reach this sandy hamlet. Again, its a ‘tehsil’ though the official whom I visited pooh-poohed at the tiny place getting such a status ever! There are some 15 schools around the area, which constitutes its biggest ‘landmark’.

The second route is a direct road to Mathura, and a percent better than going via the Raya-road. The road is mostly empty, and even runs through vast, wide empty green fields. I returned from this one, when the sun was about to set.  The open expanse in the golden and orange hues of the setting sun, with a shimmering Yamuna snaking through the plains was a nice sight!

Raya – This was en route to Mat. And an awful ride, at that. It’s a dusty, dirty village posing as a town. A single railway line runs parallel to the road. When it reaches the village, it goes precariously too close to civilization; or rather it’s the other way round, the civilization lives too close to the line. There were thelas, shopkeepers, kiosks, vegetable make-shift shops etc, all on the track’s edge – so much so from afar it looked as if the railway line passed right through those shops!

Just a few more places that I have now travelled to. Nothing exceptional here, but jotting it down for records sake.

Kagarole – a small ‘kasba‘ some 20 kilometers from Agra. The drive is quite bad, but compared to the horrifying Agra-Aligarh road, it’s still better

Jagner – Near the U.P.-Rajasthan border, it’s yet another ‘kasba‘. The road from Kagarole is bad in patches, but overall pretty neat one. The landscape, as you reach Jagner, changes to incorporate a Rajasthani tinge. A few solitary hills, part of the Aravallis, are visible.

Kirawali – A tehsil on the Bharatpur-Agra road; advisable to travel by this awesome highway. Unfortunately, we went from Kagarole to Kirawali and the drive is extremely bumpy. My car is yet to recover from this ordeal!

These are some quick verbal snapshot, purely from an outsider’s viewpoint:

• The traffic flummoxed me the most. To put it bluntly: there is absolutely no traffic sense prevalent in this city. Cars, autorickshaws, cycle rickshaws, cycles, bullock carts, thelas, scooters, motorcycles - all pile onto the narrow roads in a huge din and enormously noisy mess, vying for the smallest space available to maneouver.
• Traffic signals are meant to be broken. Rarely have I seen anyone stopping at them (except at a place called Hariparvat, near Sanjay Place – a busy intersection). Often, there would be a traffic constable standing, yet people jump red lights with abandon. In fact, stop at a signal at your own risk, because you will be immediately surrounded by irritated honking drivers trying to jump the signal.
• For its size and signals, the number of traffic constables are aplenty. Often, at many crossings one can find three-four of them standing. And yet, there would be a traffic jam at that very place. Obviously, they are futile in controlling the traffic.

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“Wait, not so soon, there is a small hitch” the man said.

Sweat broke on my forehead. My tongue felt like sandpaper. And I gulped and blinked as he narrated the small hitch.

“And that is?” I barely managed to speak out

“You will be staying alone?” he asked, and I nodded imperceptibly. Not again! This issue had cropped up several times as there is a general mistrust towards bachelors. “Actually, the people who were taking the flat next to yours are a bunch, and they wanted the one which we showed you, due to an extra balcony in that one”

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The dream house with the full, top angle view of Taj slipped my hands. On Friday afternoon I got this terrible news. Since then, life turned into a hectic run.

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